Mate 09 - Cold Gaze

Sage

The golden sunlight streamed through the windows of my chambers, casting long beams of warmth onto the polished floors. The first sounds of the morning filled the air—birds chirping outside, the soft rustling of fabric as the palace stirred to life.

A gentle knock at the door pulled me from my half-asleep haze. Then, a soft voice.

“My Lady, the empress has arranged a tea party this afternoon. You are expected to attend.”

I blinked the sleep from my eyes, slowly sitting up. A tea party. It wasn’t entirely unexpected—court life revolved around such gatherings, carefully curated events where every word and gesture carried hidden meaning.

The doors opened, and a group of maids entered, moving gracefully. Fresh linens, silk gowns in soft pastels, and delicate jewelry pieces were laid out before me, each item chosen to enhance rather than overpower.

“My Lady, shall we begin preparations?” one asked.

Wordlessly, I nodded.

Warm water enveloped me as I sank into the bath, the scent of rose petals and jasmine curling into the air. I listened absently to the maids’ chatter, but unlike previous mornings, their voices were careful today—hushed tones, fleeting glances exchanged between them.

A new maid stood among them—a young girl with short brown hair and nervous hands that twitched at her sides. She kept her head down as if afraid to meet my gaze.

“This is Lea,” the senior maid introduced. “She has been assigned to serve you, My Lady.”

Lea stepped forward, bowing her head quickly. “I will serve you to the best of my ability.”

I studied her for a moment. Unlike the other maids who had perfected their grace and discretion, Lea looked uncertain—like a rabbit that had wandered into a den of lions.

“That remains to be seen,” I said simply.

Her fingers tightened slightly, but she nodded and stepped forward to assist. She was careful, her touch light as she adjusted the pale lavender gown embroidered with silver threads that shimmered in the morning light.

The senior maid clasped a delicate chain around my neck, her voice low. “The empress values grace above all else.”

Of course, she does.

I saw my reflection in the mirror. The woman staring back at me was poised and elegant, every detail meticulously crafted. And yet, beneath the silk and jewels, I was something else entirely.

A stranger in a kingdom that would never accept me.

The golden afternoon sun poured over the palace gardens, casting long shadows across the white marble paths. The air was sweet with the scent of jasmine and freshly cut roses, mixing with the soft steam from delicate porcelain teacups. A gentle breeze carried the distant song of birds, adding to the dreamy elegance of the scene.

In the heart of the garden stood a long table draped in delicate lace and set with golden plates, crystal goblets, and silver trays filled with sugared pastries and candied fruits. Flowers in every shade of pink and ivory bloomed in tall vases, their petals as soft as the silks worn by the noblewomen seated around the table. Their laughter rang like the chiming of wind bells—light, graceful, but edged with something sharp, something unspoken.

Each woman was draped in flowing silk, jewelry catching the sunlight with every delicate movement. Their eyes, lined with kohl and glittering with secrets, watched me as I stepped forward, my heart steady but my hands hidden in the folds of my dress.

I curtsied low, my voice smooth and measured. “I greet the soaring heights of Angentha, Empress Nyx.”

A brief silence followed, heavy yet elegant. I lifted my chin slightly and added, “I also offer my greetings to all of you, ladies.”

Their smiles were cold and practiced, and their eyes held no warmth. A flicker of amusement passed between them before the empress, her gown shimmering like the night sky, lifted her hand. With slow, deliberate grace, she gestured toward the farthest seat at the table.

A seat meant for an outsider.

I understood the message clearly—I was not welcome here.

Still, I walked quietly toward my place, ignoring the hushed whispers and knowing glances. If they thought a mere seat at the edge of the table would make me feel small, they were mistaken.

I sat among them, perfectly composed, my hands delicately wrapped around my teacup. But I knew what this was. This wasn’t just a simple gathering. This was a battlefield disguised in refinement.

The empress presided at the head of the table, her emerald gown pooling around her like flowing water. She sipped her tea with effortless grace, her piercing gaze sweeping across the gathered women. No words had been spoken against me yet, but the tension simmered beneath the surface.

It was only a matter of time.

The conversation drifted between trivial matters—fashion, court performances—before settling on something more intimate.

“It is always fascinating to hear stories of how one met their fated mate, is it not?” Lady Astrid mused, placing her teacup down with a deliberate clink.

A ripple of agreement followed, eyes lighting up with amusement and nostalgia.

“Oh, indeed,” Lady Evelyne sighed. “The moment fate binds two souls together—it is the most precious event in a woman’s life.”

“My own moment was . . . magical,” Lady Mirabelle added wistfully, pulling back the lace of her glove to reveal the faint silver marking curling along her wrist.

There were murmurs of admiration.

“My husband and I met at a grand banquet,” she continued. “I had never spoken to him before, nor had I given him much thought. But the moment our eyes met, the mark appeared—a rush of warmth flooded through me, and I knew.”

More dreamy sighs.

“How fortunate you were,” Lady Astrid said, tilting her wrist slightly to display her golden mark. “Mine appeared during a hunt. He saved me from a wild beast, and as he pulled me to safety, the mark burned against my skin.” She chuckled. “Dramatic, but fate enjoys theatrics.”

Laughter rippled through the group.

“Of course, no story could ever be as remarkable as Her Majesty’s,” Lady Evelyne added smoothly, her gaze flickering toward the empress.

The table quieted.

The empress placed her teacup down, tilting her head slightly. “I suppose it is only natural to be curious.”

“Your Majesty, please indulge us,” Lady Mirabelle urged. “To be chosen by the oracle and to have a noble bloodline as perfect as yours—it must have been fate at its finest.”

The empress exhaled softly, fingers trailing the rim of her cup. “The oracle’s visions are never wrong,” she said. “And yet, I will admit that when I first heard my name spoken by the elders, I was . . . surprised.”

Gasps rippled through the noblewomen.

“The emperor and I had not yet met,” she continued. “I was young, trained in courtly ways, and I knew that my family’s bloodline made me an ideal match for an emperor—but to be chosen by fate itself? That was a different matter.”

A hush fell over the table.

“And when you did meet, Your Majesty?” Lady Astrid pressed.

The empress’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “The moment we stood in the same room, we felt a connection. Our first marking is incredibly amazing.” She tilted her wrist slightly, revealing a flawless, iridescent mark that shimmered under the light.

A collective murmur of awe spread through the group.

“Truly divine,” Lady Mirabelle whispered.

“More than that," Lady Evelyne said. “A mark of absolute destiny.”

Lady Astrid clasped her hands together, breathless. “To have been chosen by fate and to be of the most perfect noble bloodline—Your Majesty, you are truly meant for greatness.”

The empress inclined her head, satisfaction glimmering in her gaze. “It is our duty to uphold the will of the Moon Goddess.”

I sat in silence, listening, feeling the shift in the air.

This was not just storytelling—it was a reminder. Of hierarchy. Of fate. Of worth.

The empress had been born into a lineage untouched by scandal, blessed by destiny. She was placed on a pedestal no one could reach.

And in contrast, there was me.

A princess whose bloodline carried whispers of impurity. A woman met not with awe but scrutiny.

I felt their gazes drift toward me, silent comparisons hanging in the air, but I did not flinch.

Instead, I lifted my teacup and took a slow sip.

Let them look.

I would not bend.

Lady Astrid smirked slightly. “Speaking of fate . . . I imagine it must have been quite a shock, Your Majesty, when the oracle’s vision did not name Lady Rosana.”

The table fell silent again, a tension settling beneath the surface.

The empress regarded Lady Astrid coolly before letting out a soft sigh. “Indeed. Lady Rosana was always the ideal princess. Trained since childhood, carrying the bloodline of Drottghes Empire who have helped us fight against the abyssal creatures plaguing our lands. She would have made a most fitting empress.”

There was a murmur of agreement, and I could feel the eyes shifting toward me again.

“A perfect match for the crown prince,” Lady Evelyne added smoothly. “And childhood friends, no less. Their bond was undeniable.”

“But fate is unpredictable,” the empress continued, gazing at me. “It chose Lady Sage instead. A princess in title, yes, but without the alliances or resources that could fortify our empire against the looming threats."

The unspoken words were clear: I had nothing to offer. Unlike Rosana who could bring an army to fight the adjunct monsters, I was merely a name.

Lady Mirabelle leaned in slightly. “It is no wonder there have been whispers . . . .”

“Whispers?” I asked, keeping my voice neutral.

Lady Astrid’s smile was all too knowing. “Rumors, my dear. That perhaps fate made a mistake. That the oracle’s vision was . . . clouded."

Soft gasps spread around the table, some feigned, some genuine.

I let the weight of their words settle before I responded, “Fate does not choose based on wealth or military might,” I said lightly. “It sees something deeper, something beyond politics and strategy.”

Lady Astrid raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “And what, pray tell, do you think fate saw in you, Lady Sage?”

I met her gaze evenly, allowing a small, enigmatic smile to touch my lips. “Perhaps it saw what others do not yet understand.”

“I hear that fate is not always so kind,” Lady Astrid mused idly. “There are whispers, after all, about certain bloodlines.”

My grip on my teacup tightened slightly, but I did not react.

Lady Evelyne let out a soft, practiced laugh. “Oh, Astrid, you mustn’t believe every rumor you hear.”

“But this one is rather . . . persistent.” Lady Astrid tilted her head, feigning curiosity. “Tell me, Lady Sage, what was your mother’s lineage again?”

A hush settled over the table—silent, waiting, hungry.

I lifted my chin slightly, my expression unreadable. “My mother’s origins are unknown.”

“Yes, that is the trouble, isn’t it?” Lady Mirabelle’s voice was gentle, but her eyes gleamed. “No name. No title. No trace of nobility.”

I knew exactly what she meant.

The doubts. The accusations.

That my mother had been a slave.

That I was nothing more than a stain on the noble lineage.

That I did not belong.

I set my teacup down with deliberate grace, my movements controlled. “Rumors are the weapons of those who fear the truth,” I said calmly. “I pay them little mind.”

Lady Astrid smirked. “How wise of you.”

“Wisdom is knowing which words hold power and which are mere echoes,” I replied smoothly, lifting my cup once more. “As noblewomen, we all understand the weight of words, do we not?”

Lady Evelyne hummed in amusement. “Indeed. And yet, some words linger in history, refusing to fade.”

I met her gaze, unwavering. “History is written by those bold enough to hold the pen. I prefer to let my actions speak louder than idle whispers.”

A few noblewomen exchanged glances as if expecting me to falter. But I did not.

The empress, who had been silent until now, exhaled softly, her fingers tracing the handle of her teacup. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet but heavy with meaning.

“An interesting perspective, Lady Sage,” she murmured, her gaze calm and unreadable. “Let us hope your actions prove as powerful as your words.”

Though polite, there was no warmth in her tone. No approval. Only a thinly veiled warning.

The conversation shifted, laughter and chatter resuming, but the weight of her words remained.

They had drawn their lines.

And so did I.

The tea party finally ended, and I stepped away from the pavilion, the echo of whispered laughter still clinging to my skin like a phantom touch.

Walking along the shaded stone path, I allowed my thoughts to drift, the distant hum of conversation from the tea party still lingering in my mind. The afternoon sun filtered through the dense canopy of trees, dappling the ground with shifting patterns of light and shadow. The scent of magnolias filled the air, sweet and heavy, mingling with the faint traces of perfume and tea leaves.

I turned a corner abruptly—only to collide with someone.

A soft gasp met my ears as a young noblewoman stumbled back, her hands flying to her chest. The folds of her pale blue gown fluttered with the movement, the delicate lace at her sleeves trembling as she caught her breath.

"Oh! I—I’m so sorry!" she stammered, her voice laced with embarrassment.

Instinctively, I reached out to steady her, my hands hovering near her arms but not quite touching. "Are you alright?"

She nodded quickly, though her hands remained tightly clasped against the fabric of her dress. "Yes, I—um, I was looking for my handkerchief . . . ."

Her voice wavered, and I followed her gaze downward. A delicate square of white fabric embroidered with tiny blue flowers, lay just beyond her feet. Bending, I retrieved it and held it out to her.

"Here."

She accepted it with trembling fingers, pressing it against her palm as if it were a lifeline. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, silence settled between us, punctuated only by the distant chirping of birds. She hesitated before speaking again, her words hesitant and uncertain.

"Is . . . is the tea party over?"

I studied her more closely. Her nervous fingers twisted in the folds of her gown, and how she held herself—shoulders slightly hunched, chin tilted downward—spoke of quiet apprehension.

"It just ended," I replied. "Were you supposed to attend?"

She fidgeted, her gaze darting toward the path behind me. "My father wanted me to go, but . . . I wasn’t sure if I should. He said I should try to fit in."

Ah. That feeling—I knew it well.

I glanced at the nearby stone bench nestled beneath a towering magnolia tree. The petals overhead swayed in the breeze, drifting lazily to the ground in soft, white spirals.

"Would you like to sit for a moment?" I offered.

She hesitated, her fingers tightening around the handkerchief, before finally nodding.

As we settled onto the bench, she clasped her hands in her lap, her posture stiff with unease. "My name is Lady Evanna," she said after a pause, casting me a wary glance.

"Lady Sage," I introduced myself, offering a small smile.

She nodded, as if committing the name to memory, then bit her lip. "May I ask . . . was it awful?"

I tilted my head, considering my answer. "It was what I expected."

Her brows knitted together, a shadow of worry crossing her delicate features. "Then . . . they were unkind."

I hesitated before responding, "They were . . . themselves."

Evanna sighed, lowering her gaze. "I was afraid of that. My father says I need to be more like them, but I don’t think I ever will be."

A cool breeze rustled the branches above us, scattering the scent of magnolias through the air. I watched her, sensing the uncertainty in her words, the doubt in her expression.

"Perhaps you belong more than you think," I said finally. "You just haven’t realized it yet."

She looked up at me, startled by my words. A moment passed—then, slowly, her lips curved into the smallest of smiles.

And just like that, I had made an unexpected ally.

That evening, a royal attendant sought me out.

"Lady Sage," he said with a deep bow, "Their Majesties request your presence for dinner."

Another test. Another performance.

I smoothed the fabric of my gown, steadying myself.

Angentha was a battlefield.

And I was still standing.

No matter how many times they tried to make me fall.

I followed the attendant through the winding halls, my steps steady despite the weight pressing against my chest. The castle was as grand as ever, its towering walls laced with history, power, and expectations I had no desire to meet.

When the doors to the dining hall opened, I was greeted with the soft flicker of golden candlelight reflecting off polished marble. The emperor and empress were already seated, gazes settling on me when I stepped inside.

The empress, ever composed, regarded me with a refined smile that felt like a blade pressed against my skin. The emperor, by contrast, seemed amused as if awaiting the next act of a play.

"You look well, Lady Sage," the emperor said, gesturing for me to take my seat.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," I replied, lowering myself gracefully into the chair.

A servant poured wine into my goblet, the deep crimson swirling like spilled ink.

“How has Angentha treated you so far?” the empress asked, her voice smooth, her intent anything but idle curiosity.

Another test.

I lifted my chin slightly, meeting her gaze. “It has been . . . enlightening, Your Majesty."

“Enlightening?” the emperor mused, swirling his wine. “That is an interesting choice of words.”

I let a small, unreadable smile grace my lips. “There is much to observe and learn in a kingdom as vast and rich in tradition as Angentha.”

The empress’s fingers traced the rim of her goblet. “It must be quite different from what you are accustomed to.”

“Every empire has its own way of doing things,” I replied smoothly. “But adaptation is a necessary skill for those who wish to thrive.”

“Wise words,” the emperor noted, his sharp gaze assessing.

The empress merely hummed, amusement flickering in her eyes. “Then tell me, Lady Sage, do you find it easy to adapt?”

A carefully veiled question. A challenge.

I picked up my goblet, taking a slow sip before answering., “Adaptation is not always easy, but it is possible—with patience and resilience.”

The empress tilted her head, watching me closely. “How fortunate that you possess both.”

The tension in the room was a silent current beneath the surface, threading between each exchange like a game of chess.

And yet, I did not break.

Because no matter how many times they tested me, I would not fall.

Not here. Not ever.

Before I could respond, the doors swung open.

A figure stepped inside—tall, with brown hair and piercing blue eyes.

I gasped softly.

The empress’s lips curled into a slight smile. “Damien,” she said.

A shock ran through me. He was supposed to return in a week. Why was he here now?

Damien’s gaze locked onto mine, scrutinizing me with cold intensity. “Is she the one?” he asked, his voice clipped and devoid of warmth.

“Yes,” the empress confirmed without hesitation.

I swallowed hard, gathering my composure. Slowly, I stood and gave him a formal bow. “It is an honor to meet you, Crown Prince Damien. I have waited for this moment.”

He did not return the sentiment. Instead, he merely nodded before excusing himself, leaving without another word.

A sharp, stinging pain blossomed in my chest, a wound deeper than any I had expected. The rejection, though silent, was absolute.

As I stood frozen, a voice cut through the tension.

“Don’t take it personally. My brother is just tired,” said a young man, stepping forward with a friendly smile. “I’m Greyson, Damien’s younger brother. Welcome to Angentha.”

In return, I forced a small smile, but my thoughts were already spiraling.

Had Damien already decided to reject me?

And if he had, what would become of me now?